


Blow Away With This New Sun

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: Dean is conscripted.





	Blow Away With This New Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 round of spn-springfling. Sam is 17.

Sam sees the birthday come up before anyone else. He’d been watching out for it, day after day with fingernails in his mouth being chewed down to the flesh.  
  
January 24.  
  
His heart lurches and his stomach twists. He wants to ignore it. To forget it ever existed and hide Dean away until all the violence and death is over. He’s only 21, just had his first — legal — beer a week ago. They can’t make him do this.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
It’s too late. Sam turns around to see their father staring from the doorway. Behind him, Dean sitting at the kitchen table methodically pulling apart an orange. The soft rip of flesh.  
  
“We knew it was going to happen,” Dean says without looking up. Rip, rip. He pops a piece in his mouth and Sam can smell the citrus pierce through the air. “No big deal.”  
  
Sam gets up and runs.  
  
*  
  
Dean finds him, of course. Hiding out in an old and forgotten playground nearby. Dean sits and slowly swings for a while, deliberately avoiding Sam’s direction, before he gives a long and loud sigh and walks over.  
  
“Sammy,” he says. A name Sam both loves and loves to hate. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Sitting,” he says, like the sulky teenager Dean always accuses him of being. An attitude growing at the same rate as his gangly limbs and floppy hair.  
  
“Mind if I join you?”  
  
Sam says nothing and Dean sits. Close enough their thighs touch and Sam tells his heart to shut up, lest Dean hears it.  
  
“It’ll be okay, Sammy,” he says. Sam can’t look at him; he’ll start crying. “I’ll come back, I promise.”  
  
“How?” Sam says and his voice cracks. Ragged and raw and open. “How can you possibly promise that?”  
  
Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulls him in. The tears start falling.  
  
“Can’t we just run away?” Sam asks — begs, really.  
  
“Okay,” Dean says. “If that’s what you want. But to where? How far?”  
  
Sam doesn’t have any answer. He angrily wipes tears away.  
  
“I will come back for you, Sammy,” Dean says. He squeezes Sam’s shoulders harder. “I will.”  
  
*  
  
The night before Dean leaves, Dad is at a bar and Sam hates him. Hates him so much it almost clouds how sad and broken he is about Dean leaving — he should *be* here. Any decent father would be.  
  
“He’s dealing in his own way,” Dean tells Sam from the recliner where he’s reading a book, something he’s taken to doing rather than watching television.  
  
“Well it’s the wrong fucking way,” Sam says. Venom tinges his tongue and spews out into the room. “He should care.”  
  
“I know he cares,” Dean says. “That’s what matters.”  
  
Dean’s lying, and Sam wants to confront him about it, but just then a car goes by and illuminates his face. All Sam reads on him is fear and he cusses himself for not noticing. For not paying attention. For being so caught up in his own damn mind. He goes over to his brother and drops down to his knees by the chair.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam says.  
  
Dean closes the book. “For what?”  
  
“For not finding you a way out of this,” Sam says. His eyes stay trained on the window. “I should have made us run.”  
  
Dean’s hand comes under Sam’s chin and pulls him up so they’re eye to eye. Sam sees the tears shining in his brother’s eyes and knows his are a mirror.  
  
“Don’t ever blame yourself, Sammy,” Dean says. It’s a hoarse whisper and Sam knows he’s trying so hard to hold it together. “It was just sheer, dumb luck.”  
  
Sam breaks then. Knowing Dean is going to go away, that he could die, that this is his last chance—  
  
Sam closes the gap between them and crushes their lips together. Hard, angry, broken, sad. His hands grip Dean’s face and hold him there until a sob rips through and he can’t stop it.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean is saying. Over and over. “Sammy, Sammy.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam says. So many apologises that lead to nothing. Pointless words that don’t even make Sam feel the slightest bit better. He’s not even sure if he’s apologising for not escaping or for kissing him. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
He goes to leave. To follow in Dads footsteps because he failed at the one thing he tried so hard to get right.  
  
But then Dean’s reaching out and grabbing Sam, urging him back over, and bringing their mouths together again. Sam sobs against his brother this time and Dean takes it only as an invitation to kiss him deeper, tongues melding and his hands roaming through Sam’s hair. Sam gets up into his lap; wants to crawl inside him and never leave.  
  
“Why now?” Dean asks, pulling away and searching Sam’s face like the answer will be etched in his eyes. Why now and not before? Why now and not after? Sam doesn’t have an answer, but he knows he was too damn selfish to let Dean go without this.  
  
Sam’s answer instead is to kiss Dean again. Twisted and crushed together on a recliner they outgrew some time long ago. Sam paws at Dean’s t-shirt, wanting to touch more of his skin. Wanting to touch every inch of him before it’s too late.  
  
“Dean,” he begs — whines — and Dean understands. He yanks off his shirt, hardly breaking the kiss.  
  
Sam splays his hands over the expanse of delicious skin, mottled with scars. He kisses each and every one of them.  
  
“Why?” Sam asks. Another question that keeps falling from his mouth these last couple of weeks.  
  
“Don’t think about that, Sammy,” Dean says. He reaches a hand into Sam’s pants and Sam can’t help but moan. The hand feels burning hot, perfect, and Sam ruts against him.  
  
One night. Less than that now — maybe several hours. Dean is leaving him and Sam doesn’t know if he’ll ever touch or hear or taste Dean again. Why now? Why now?  
  
Sam wants this to last forever and he wants his brother inside him. So far inside him he can never escape. But the sensation and emotions are swirling too hard and he can’t last. Dean jerks him a few more times and Sam falls apart, collapsing against his brother’s chest. Dean softly runs his fingers through Sam’s hair.  
  
“I will come back for you,” Dean whispers between strokes.  
  
*  
  
Dean keeps his promise.


End file.
